He was the Sun
by queenxxsydney
Summary: It has been one year since John Watson's best friend, Sherlock Holmes commited suicide. But this day is also John's wedding day. Everything is well until an unexpected stranger reminds John of his secret love for his best friend.


He is the Sun

_It's been one year, _John thought to himself. Those exact words have been echoing through his head all night. He can still hear _his _words no matter what he does. He was always saying, _Goodbye John._ He can still see the crowd gathered around _his_ lifeless body. He can still feel that very last touch on his hands. He can still taste the helpless screaming of _his_ name in his mouth. It has been one year and he can scarcely bring himself to say _his _name. Because saying his name and him not being there to answer to it means that he is really dead. It means this isn't just a nightmare. It has been one year since the first person John ever loved ceased to exist. It has been one year.

John woke up, screaming _his _name as he usually does after waking from one of his recurring nightmares. _I'm getting married today, _John remembered. In the silence, he could hear Ms. Hudson's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Are you just getting up now? Do you _know _how long it's going to take to make you look presentable?" Ms. Hudson said.

"No, I'm just in bed because I like the way the sheets feel," John responded. But this wasn't completely a lie. He slept in _his _bed.

"Very funny, Dr. Watson. Get dressed. You only get married once you know," Ms. Hudson told John as she started to walk back to her flat.

"It's been one year today," John managed to choke out. She paused.

"We will visit him _after _your wedding. You said that you would be able to handle this."

"I know I did but-"

"Get married John, it's what he would have wanted," with that, she left him.

When he knew that she was too far off to hear him anymore, he reassured himself.

"It's what he would've wanted. Stop being so stupid, John. He's gone and he's not coming back. Ever. Get over him, John. He is dead. He has been for a whole year. She is very alive, beautiful, and she loves you. You love her too. You do, John, you do. Don't be stupid," he uttered to himself.

He finally gathered the strength to stand up and walk on that cold floor on the coldest of days.

"You're over him John. He's gone. He's… He's dead," he reminded himself as he stared at the hanger holding his suit.

He took a deep breath and walked over to his suit. It was a gift from some anonymous sender. He picked it up for a second and just admired it. It was just a simple black suit made with the finest fabric in London. What _really_ stood out to him was the tie which the anonymous person sent him as well. It was the same dark blue color that _he _wore around his neck in the form of a scarf.

"Stop this John. You are over him. Stop."

He broke his stare and started to get dressed. It was his wedding day and he deserved to be happy. He slipped into the suit and started tying his tie. As he went to get his shoes, he noticed a picture of him and his fiancée together. He managed to let out a smile. He knew he was making the right choice. Next to it was a picture of John and _him_. He had made turned the picture frame away previously because it was too painful to even look at it. He turned the picture frame so the picture of the two of them was visible yet again. He picked it up with caution and just gazed at one of the rare pictures of them. A slight smile rose on his mouth. He flipped the frame around, took the picture out, and placed it deep into his pocket.

John just stood there for a minute taking it all in. He picked up his shoes and walked out the door.

As he was walking down the stairs, he was able to hear Ms. Hudson say, "I still can't believe you want to take a cab to your wedding."

"It will give me more time to think."

"Think about what?"

"I'll see you there, Ms. Hudson."

With that, John left. He pulled the lever on the car door and got in.

"T-"

"I know where you're going, Dr. Watson," the driver said. His voice sounded so familiar. It was almost as if he had heard it before.

"How did you know my name?"

The driver paused for a minute before saying, "Well, your wedding is all anyone has been talking about. There has not been this much talk since the royal wedding."

"Do I know you? You sound very familiar."

"No."

"No, I am pretty sure I know your voice. I know you."

"I am a cab driver. I may have driven you somewhere before. You know what, I know I have. But no, you do not know me. I am just a stranger and that is all Dr. Watson."

After that, there was complete silence in the cab. The thing that was upsetting to John was that all he could see of the driver was his dark, black coat. He had a sort of mystery about him. The strangest thing was that John's eyes were drawn to him as though he was a red spot on a white paper. It was as if everybody else were the stars, and he was the sun. John was able to catch one more glimpse at him through the mirror before exiting the cab. All he could see was just one curious, sad, blue eye.

"Goodbye, Dr. Watson," the cab then drove away into the rain.

John, still dazed, stumbled into the church. He greeted all the guests that were already there and proceeded to the back room. The clock read that there were only about ten minutes until the ceremony started. He had to be waiting at the altar in five. He took a look into the mirror.

"I'm really getting married," he said as he took out the picture of himself and _him_. "I wish you could be here, telling me how much of a bother marriage is, making deductions about the guests. I wish you could be here to be my best man," John told the picture, holding back his tears. He took a sip of the alcohol waiting for him on the small wooden table and walked out to the altar. The audience applauded as the groom took his place and the bride's maids started to walk down the aisle. And then it was her. She was so beautiful. It was hard to believe he wasn't going to go through with it.

"The ceremony dragged on, and on, and on. Finally it was time for the important part. Do you, John Hamish Watson take this woman, as your wife, to love her and to honor her, to nurture, serve and support her, in times of joy and in times of difficulty? Do you promise to remain by her side regardless of what trouble befalls you, and in the presence of temptation to forsake this love; do you promise to remain steadfast and true? Do you promise with all your heart and soul to honor this vow till death do you part? If so, answer now, I do."

"I-"

Suddenly someone came bursting in through the door. The bride looked startled. All he could see from the distance was a black coat and wet, curly, brown hair. It looked like the cab driver. He

was observing the crowd. He started walking towards the altar. He had on a deep blue scarf, the same color of John's tie. He had very prominent cheek bones and he had these eyes. He had _the_ eyes. The eyes that John would know anywhere. The man stopped walking when he reached the _exact_ middle of the aisle.

_This isn't possible, _John thought.

Suddenly, everything came flooding back to him. The moment they met. _His _smile when he brought to John's attention that he walked without a cane. The times they said 'shut up Anderson' in unison. The light in his eyes when he solved another case. The way that _he_ took off the bomb vest that was strapped to him. The jealousy he felt when Irene was flirting with _him _and he knew that _he_ was interested in her. The way he continuously apologized after they fought. He remembered the picture of _him _in that stupid hat that was _always_ in the paper. He remembered that last phone call. He remembered the words 'goodbye, John'. He could vividly see him jump off the roof. He remembered running as fast as he could to get to him after his body hit the ground. He remembered holding onto him one last time saying, 'that's my friend'. He remembered how much he truly loved him and how he never told him while he was alive. He remembered the countless visits to the cemetery. The one thing he doesn't remember is seeing him walk away _alive_ from that fall.

_It's him. He's alive. _

"Sherlock," John spoke in the weakest, quietest voice possible. "You were dead."

"Joh-" his words were interrupted by his tears. "John. I was never dead. I just… disappeared for a whil-"

"You let me think you were dead for a year?" the rage in John's voice was growing.

"I had to. I needed you to be safe. If I walked out of that building, you, Ms. Hudson, Lestrade, everyone who meant something to me would be dead."

"You watched me suffer for a whole year. You watched me cry myself to sleep. You heard everything I said to your grave. Yet you still couldn't at least give me a little message saying that you were alive?"

"I needed you to be safe, John."

"But you didn't need me to be happy?" Sherlock was silent.

"We shouldn't do this here," Sherlock told John.

John started to walk back down the aisle to where Sherlock was standing. The priest, John's bride, and the bride's maids looked as out of place as a flower in a patch of snow. The two of them were barely a centimeter apart.

"Really Sherlock? I'm sorry if this isn't convenient for you, but you're the one who crashed my wedding. Remember?"

"I just… I couldn't not see your wedding. The only reason I didn't tell you that I was alive, was because I just wanted you to be happy. I knew that you could never be happy with me."

"Sherlock, I was more than happy to be with you all the time. Living with you was the best decision I had ever made. The truth is that there isn't going to be a wedding today."

Everybody looked horrified.

"There isn't going to be a wedding, because Sherlock, the truth is that I am in-"

Sherlock suddenly put his arms around John and John did the same.

John looked up into Sherlock's dazzling blue eyes, "Sherlock, I'm-"

Sherlock pulled John even closer than before, he whispered into John's ear, "me too."

It was like they had their own language, because at that moment they knew. They knew that they were each other's. That they were two halves and only together would they feel whole. In that moment they knew exactly what they were for the very first time. Because that was the first moment they really _saw_ each other. Almost in unison, they parted their lips ever so slightly. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his skin. He could feel his heartbeat. It was almost as if it were going to jump out of his chest. All they could see was each other. All they wanted was each other. There was no one else in the universe. It was just the detective and his blogger who longed to be so much more. John leaned in towards Sherlock and although everything about it seemed like a bad idea, their lips met and nothing had felt more right. As they pulled apart, the room was silent. John's bride was on the verge of crying, the crowd looked as if they were in shock.

"Yeah, maybe we _shouldn't_ do this here," John said filling the silence. John and Sherlock didn't take their eyes off of each other.

John whispered into Sherlock's ear, "I think I should talk to her first."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" John asked his now ex- fiancée.

"Are you sure you want to talk to me and not Sherlock?"

"Positive," John led her to the back room and locked the door.

"Listen, of course I'm upset. I'm in love with you. I know that you're in love with me too, but I just can't compete with him. I want you to be happy. If we're together, you won't be as happy as you'd be with him. I think it's for the best that we go our separate ways," she lectured.

"Can we at least be friends?"

"No, John," she planted a kiss on his cheek and left, not looking back once.

When John walked back into the main part of the church, everyone had left. Everyone had left except for one person. Sherlock.

"What did she say? She didn't leave as a complete mess."

"You know what she said."

"I do."

"So, I think we should talk too," John suggested.

"Yes we should."

John then took Sherlock's hand in his and led him to the back room where his fiancée had left him just moments ago.

"Aren't you upset?" Sherlock asked John after locking the door.

"Of course I'm upset, but not as much as I would be."

"So, what are we?"

"What do you want us to be?" John questioned as he inched closer and closer to Sherlock, locking hands with him. John was leaning against a hard, wooden wall. But with him so close, it felt warm.

"I'm in love with you, John," Sherlock whispered into John's ear.

"And I am in love with you, Sherlock Holmes," John whispered back.

John brushed the hair out of Sherlock's eyes, leaving his hands to trace his cheekbones. Up and down, and up and down. Sherlock let out a smile as their eyes met. He started to move closer to John, almost like he was being drawn to him. Their lips met for the second time. But this time it was different, this time no one was watching them, this time they didn't have to be quick about anything. They have been in love, they have just been reunited, but this time is also different because nothing parted them. Nothing could part them. John's hands moved up to Sherlock's hair, pulling hard at it, running his fingers through it. Sherlock just pulled John closer and closer, only taking quick breaths now and then so their lips didn't have to be apart any longer than they had to. Neither of them could stop. John started to remove Sherlock's scarf, and then his coat revealing the same shirt that he "died". Passion swept through their veins, controlling them. Sherlock started to remove John's coat and tie forcefully. They were one. They were each other's. John gathered up the courage to part from him.

"It shouldn't happen like this, it should be more special," John said weakly as Sherlock placed kisses onto his neck. "Sherlock I'm serious."

Sherlock finally stopped.

"Let's leave now before anyone gets even more suspicious," John uttered.

They helped each other get dressed, unlocked the door, and walked out with their hands tangled together.

As they walked out, Sherlock said, "You know John, you never answered my question." The weather had changed drastically since Sherlock's dramatic entrance into the church. The birds were singing, the sun was out, there were no clouds in sight. The only sign that it had rained earlier was the wet pavement.

"What question, Sherlock?"

"What are we, what is this? You know I've never really had much experience with relationships. None actually."

"Wow, finally a question that the great Sherlock Holmes cannot answer!"

"Really John, what are we?"

"Well, I love you and you love me. I'm yours and you're mine."

"That's not an answer," Sherlock said trying to stop smiling.

"Do you want to know what we are, Sherlock? You want to know what this is?"

"More than anything," Sherlock pleaded.

"This is forever."


End file.
